Tanitha's Tale
by mysterylucy
Summary: This is the tale of Tanitha and how she went from a lonely homeless girl to one of the most powerful demigods in history. Set years before the Percy Jackson books.
1. Night Flight

Chapter One

Before I was woken from my much-needed and greatly-feared sleep, I had been dreaming.

It was harder to stay awake tonight. Perhaps I had pushed myself too far: I knew that I didn't need as much sleep as other people did, but maybe I was depriving myself. I don't know, but whatever the reason, the concrete floor felt more comfortable than it ever had. As I lay cocooned in my worn-out sleeping bag, I found my eyes closing unstoppably.

I was dreaming a familiar dream. It was the same cave; the same rough stone floor; the same stalactites dangling precariously from the ceiling. The same dim light. And the same terrifying, larger-than-life man sitting on the throne of bones, gazing down at me. Sometimes there was also a woman, sat on a chair wound with flowers- but she tended to only be there in the cold, winter months. The man sat alone, wearing a flowing black cloak. His face, as ever, was an unfathomable mask. And as he spoke, his voice reverberated through the walls, making the stalactites tremble:

'Are you ready to accept the truth yet, my young hero?'

I swallowed. This man- why did he continue to enter my dreams? I didn't know who he was. I didn't _want _to know who he was. He was scary, but I wasn't scared of him. Just of what he might say.

'That would depend on what the truth would mean to me," I answered, trying to seem as formal as him.

He laughed. Loud and long. It made his face look kinder, broke the mask he normally wore. "_That _is a very good answer, Tanitha.' The fact that he knew my name, even though I hadn't ever told him, didn't faze me. The first time we met I was terrified. Now he was just a reoccurring annoyance, something that made me dread sleep, test my limits. I had a sudden thought. Having to sleep in my clothes wasn't that bad; I would be mortally embarrassed if I had to stand before this man in nothing but a thin t-shirt and trousers. I smiled without humour.

'Thank you.' I replied. I wish he would let me sleep, I thought. I wish he would stop bugging me. In a sudden flash of deep-rooted anger, I asked: 'Why do you continue to enter my dreams? Why won't you just-' I clenched my fists, spoke every word carefully, attempting to keep my temper under control. '-leave me alone.' His face was suddenly serious. All traces of laughter had been irradiated- he had put back on the emotionless mask.

'I continue to enter your dreams because you continue to flee from the facts. You need to stop running away from the truth, Tanitha.'

I clapped my hands over my ears, attempting to stop his painful words from penetrating my amour. Angry power spilled into my voice, and I yelled; 'Shut up! Shut up! I don't want to know!' In the corner of my mind I think I knew that I was being foolish, but I didn't care. I willed myself to wake up, willed myself to escape from the man, the room, I hated. It worked. My anger gave me strength, and the room began to vanish. The last thing I saw was his face. I could read his expression like a book. He was disappointed. Then he vanished, and I woke as suddenly as if a light switch had been thrown.

I didn't move. I kept very still, continued breathing deeply and evenly when I wanted to curse and yell. A useful trick- people talk more when they believe the person they are gossiping about is fast asleep. But nobody was talking, so I sat up. My sleep-deprived brain swam as I thought about my 'dream'.

That man... he knew me. Everything about me. Every deepest, darkest secret- and that made him a threat. If he found the right words, he could destroy me like an ant. Why did he do this to me? Wasn't my life hard enough? Didn't he think that living on the streets was bad enough? No! Of course not. So he decides to haunt my dreams, to follow after me, to tell me to 'accept the truth'. All he was succeeding in doing was making me terrified of falling asleep. Who did he think he was? I hated him so much...

I gulp in the chilled night air. It calmed my anger, made me think straight. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was go curl up somewhere and cry. I had to get away from here. But had I woken the rest of the gang? I peered through the dim moonlight at the teenagers sleeping around me. After being with them for seven hard years, they where properly the closest thing I had to family.

Pockets slept nearest, his dirty face turned my way. His eyes flickered underneath his closed lids. He looked- younger, when he was asleep. I liked watching him sleep. He was the one I trusted most in this gang. If this was my family, he would be my twin. The youngest of us, Questions, was snoring quietly. I felt very...maternal for him. Silence was being absolutely- well, silent. She lay, as still as a statue, her back to me. I didn't know whether she was asleep or not. Knife lay close by her, enveloped in shadow. Sweet-Face lay on her front, her vivid red hair splayed across her pack. As I watched, she murmured and turned over. I hadn't disturbed them with my dreams.

I didn't know any of their real names; just as they didn't know mine. To live on the streets means you have a painful past, and one which you don't want to share with anyone. Your name is the key of your past- to lock your past away, you have to have a new name. Some of our names where chosen (or given) due to our 'talents'.

Sweet-Face, the girl whose innocent face always meant that when she begged strangers where more than willing to part with their money. Pockets was a shoplifter. He always wore a jacket with huge pockets- he could walk out of a shop with half of the merchandise in those pockets and nobody would look at him twice. Silence is silent. She steals into peoples houses at night, when they're asleep. She burgles money or jewellery, anything expensive. And if the owner of the house wakes up, Knife will be there to take care of that. I don't trust either of them; we may be living rough, but we don't have to stoop that low. And Questions is so named because when he first joined our gang he asked so many questions that Knife named him that out of spite. My name? Well, they call me Fingers. My 'talent' is pick-pocketing.

Sweet-Face murmurs again and I jerk back to the present. I wiggle out of my cosy sleeping bag; the cold night air gives me goose bumps. I roll up my still-warm sleeping bag, pull a threadbare jumper from my pack and slip it on. Stuffing the sleeping bag away, I shrug on my pack and start walking. It doesn't matter where; I just had to get out of hearing of the gang. I march through endless alleyways. I know this area so well, I could walk it blindfolded.

When I knew I was far enough away from the gang, I sat down on the cold pavement. My aching head rested in my hands and I stayed still. I was so _tired;_ sleep just led me back to that man. A few salty tears escaped. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't. Instead I dropped my barrier- put down my armour- and cried. I sobbed until my eyes where dryer than desert sand. When I stopped, the sane area of my brain thought: thank goodness the gang isn't here. I act so tough and streetwise in front of them. I ignored the voice and gently lay down and closed my eyes.

I didn't know I had fallen asleep until I was woken by a noise. My bones where frozen, and my lips chapped and sore. I stood up. For a second, my sense of direction was thrown. The noise came again, and this time I recognised it. My heartbeat quickened, my eyes widened. Oh, no. Not again. These kinds of noises only meant one thing for me... Trouble.

The ground vibrated again, and again. Footsteps. Something was coming for me. I shouldered my pack, tightened the straps and started walking briskly in the opposite direction- away from the thundering footsteps. I ducked into alleys, crawled under crates, tried to lead... _whatever it was_ on a wild-goose hunt. But I could tell it wasn't working. Stones scuttled with every step _it_ made and I could hear deep, rasping breaths.

I began to run. Even though I had tightened the straps, my heavy pack still managed to thump painfully against my back. Left, right, left again... Sprinting through the maze of alleyways in the middle of the night when you haven't had a decent nights sleep in... well, a very long time isn't advisable. And when your running for your life from some terrifying monster that could quite possibly _eat you alive_... yeah, not great either.

My breath was coming in ragged gasps. My legs felt like they where on fire with pain. I kept running, dodging, ducking and weaving, trying to escape from the roaring creature behind me. It wasn't working.

Its hot, smelly breath was ruffling my hair. It was right behind me, its footsteps jolting the ground and making me stagger as I ran. I wasn't going to make it. I had a sudden thought and drew my knife. It was a good knife- it had protected me on countless occasions. I ducked into an alley, nearly tripping over my own feet as I sprinted to the other end. I was so close to the end...

I felt a sudden, jarring pain. I looked down and then immediately wished I hadn't. A clawed hand clutched me around the waist, the razor tips imbedded in my side. I shrieked and wildly jabbed at the claw. The claw retracted and I began staggering to the end of the alleyway. The pain in my side was so intense, it was nearly impossible to think of anything else. I was exhausted, terrified and injured. For a fleeting moment I thought I felt something resting on my shoulders. Then I burst through the end of the alleyway, momentarily blinded by a streetlamp lighting up the dark night.

I wasn't alone.

In a split second I took in the scene before me. A boy and a girl stood across the street. The boy wore a yellow baseball cap, pulled low down over his forehead so his eyes where in shadow. His mouth was open in shock. I suppose my appearance must've been shocking. A girl with a wild expression, wielding a blood-stained knife with a whopping great wound in her side.

But back to the boy. He had brown, wildly curly hair, escaping from under his hat. He looked about... eighteen? He had a hand on the girls shoulder. The girl also had brown hair, but lighter than the boys and very straight. They couldn't be related. Her skin was sun-kissed. She looked young, about eleven years old. She didn't look shocked. Her expression was more of one of sadness. For some reason, I felt like I knew her. But then the moment was over.

I staggered forward. I felt a hot sensation reaching from my wounded side, spreading through my chest and making my heart feel tight. My legs failed me and I fell to my knees, my knife clattering out of my hand. I couldn't move. I dimly saw the girl reach down and pick up the knife. I wanted to say, _Hey! Put that back, its mine! _but my voice wouldn't obey me. She held it like a dart, ignoring the blood. She narrowed her eyes and threw it. I heard a muted roar and the ground shook.

I heard the girl say in a very surprised voice, 'Dylan, I killed it!' The boy replied, 'I know. That was a very good shot.' The girls face swam into view. Her forehead was puckered and she looked concerned. 'What's wrong with her?' I heard her say, but her voice seemed to come from miles away. I felt like I was underwater. My last sane thought was: _she had green eyes._ Then I passed out.


	2. Dee & Dylan

a/n: A thousand thanks to zynaofthenight, rainkisses908 and MegartXD for the reviews! (Note to RainKisses: Percy is such an awesome character that if I tried to write anything about him, my clumsy fingers would mess it up entirely!)

Please, _please_, review!

_**Chapter Two**_

I slept feverishly. I woke, glimpsed faces and people, slept and dreamt of running. The man didn't enter my dreams once. I could hear a low conversation, but it kept fading. Someone was touching me, cold fingers trailing across my skin. I was moved about- somebody touched my wound and I gasped. And the pain; always the pain. It surrounded my body like mist, smothering but never quite touching me.

I was called two names: Fingers and Tanitha. They started to interwind. Tinger and Fantha. I tried to speak but my voice slurred like a drunkard. My heart felt small, compressed. It took more effort to breath. I woke suddenly. My head was being held upright the boy. Dylan, my confused mind offered. Yes, that was what the girl had called him. He pushed a small square into my mouth. 'Ambrosia,' He whispered. 'It should remove the poison from your bloodstream, help you sleep comfortably.' Poison? I tried to sit up, but I was still weak. 'Whoa, whoa. Don't move. You need to rest.'

The square melted in my mouth. It tasted amazing, a mixture of warm bread steaming from the oven, simple tomato soup and clean, pure, cold water. He gently lay my head back down on my pack. I fell deeply asleep and didn't dream.

I woke. Keeping still, I investigated. My head was clear and I felt almost normal again, although my wounded side was stinging. While I slept, someone had bandaged it up neatly. I could hear Dylan talking, and water running. He was obviously trying to be as quiet as possible. I opened my eyes a crack and saw the girl. She was fast asleep, her mouth slightly open. Cute freckles rested on her tanned cheeks. It was early morning. I closed my eyes and listened.

'...the new girl, she's a demigod.' Dylan murmured. I suddenly realised he was talking about me. What on earth is a demigod? Then, to my surprise, somebody replied. 'Well, bring her back to camp then! Why are you telling me this?' Who was that? I didn't recognise the voice at all. He sounded male and impatient. Dylan lowered his voice and said, 'She's a very powerful demigod. The most powerful I've seen for a very long time.' Me? Powerful? There was a heavy sigh. 'Well, be more careful then.'

The sound of water trickled to a stop. I felt, rather than heard, Dylan's footsteps as he walked close by me. With a huff he sat down. I could hear paper rustling and the scratch of a pen. He was writing something. I lay, pretending to sleep, for as long as I could manage. Then I started getting fidgety. Yawning, I turned over and sat up. Dylan casually covered his writing with his hand, but I wasn't fooled. Writing about me? I decided that I really didn't like him. Talking about me behind my back, writing about me... even if he did bandage my wound.

'You're up early,' He commented. Was it that obvious?

I didn't want to tell him anything. 'Am I?' I asked. 'I guess the sun woke me up.' Faint rays where beginning to filter through the low clouds. I stood up, stretching the sleep from my bones. A sudden flash of pain brought my hand to my side. 'Ouch,' I muttered. Dylan looked concerned, almost like the parent I never had. Stop thinking that! I told myself. I tried to make myself hate him.

'Where's my pack?' I demanded. I knew I was being rude. 'I need to head back now. It was real nice of you to take care of me, but-'

Dylan interjected. 'I'm sorry. You can't leave.'

'What?' My tone was indignant. 'Why on earth not?'

Dylan was stern. 'One, your wound hasn't been cleaned properly. It could get infected. I don't have the right equipment on me, so I'll have to take you back to camp to do it there. Two...' He paused, looked me in the eye. 'You are far too dangerous to be roaming the streets by yourself. I can't let you stay here.' Then he turned his back on me and began packing his rucksack with such an air of finality that I was taken aback. I didn't need to try and hate him anymore.

I had lived with the gang for seven years. I knew that the longer I stayed away from them, the less lightly I was to be allowed back in. They where the closest thing I had to family, and he was going to walk into my life and change everything? Who cares if my wound gets infected! And dangerous! Where we talking about the same person?

'Why can't you take me to a local hospital?' I asked angrily. 'They'll sort my wound out, easy-peasy. And as for dangerous... can you please tell me how I am dangerous? And where's this 'Camp' place?' I stopped ranting, gasped for breath.

Dylan sighed. 'I knew this wasn't going to be easy,' He muttered. Then he raised his voice and told me; 'No hospital will have even seen a wound like that. They would never let you leave. As for dangerous, that wasn't the first time a monster came after you, was it?' I was unsure if I should reply, tell him that they had been coming for me more and more lately. As I shook my head, I thought I saw a flash of sympathy- but then his face turned stony again. 'The camp? A two-day journey away, if you don't slow us down. Please pack your bag, we need to leave soon.'

His words confused and irritated me. There was something he wasn't telling me: hospitals didn't see those wounds for a reason. The reason was that they where kept hidden. And they where kept hidden and confined to areas such as...

'...the camp!'

Dylan looked up from his packing. 'Pardon?' He frowned.

'Oh, um... The camp you mentioned. What's it like?' He was glad to get off the subject of my leaving. He properly thought I was coming with him. I properly was. Smiling, Dylan gazed into the distance. 'Its one of the only places where demigods can live without drawing attention to themselves. For most, Camp Half-Blood is the only place they can feel free.'

So I was right. This camp was a huge secret. He was clearly telling me the secret. But what was a 'demigod'? He had called me one earlier, in his conversation to that other man. And wasn't Camp Half-Blood a sinister name? He cleared his throat and turned back to his packing. With his back to me, he asked, 'Go wake Derren up, will you?'

Derren! So she had a name. I had completely forgotten about her. Was she still sleeping? Yes. I looked at the sky. The sun was now fully up, its brave light shining down every alley and across every skyscraper. I would've thought that would wake her up. Mind you, who was I to question a normal person's sleeping patterns? It wasn't like I slept a normal amount.

Crouching down, I gently shook her shoulder. 'Derren? Wake up.' A moan. She turned over and wrinkled her nose. Her light brown hair was tousled and messy, but glossy. 'Get up, Derren.' She suddenly woke, her green eyes flicking open so suddenly I was startled. She glared at me before standing up. 'My name-' she said firmly. '-is Dee, whatever he may tell you.' I smiled. Her voice inferred that she didn't like Dylan either. We stood awkwardly for a few seconds before she asked, 'What's your name?'

I could leave the gang without crying, I could be chased by a monster for hours before fainting, and I could sleep four hours a night and still not be tired- but I couldn't answer a simple question. I honestly didn't know what name to give her. Was I still Fingers, the homeless pickpocket? Or now that I had left the gang had I become Tanitha again, the girl with everything- including a safe, easy life and parents? No. I defiantly wasn't Fingers any longer, and I wasn't exactly Tanitha either... I suddenly knew what I would call myself.

'My name is Tan.' I told them, and myself. 'Short for Tanith.' Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either.

'Cool.' Dee said. 'Oh, I still have your knife...' From under her pillow she drew out the knife. Looking at the long blade, free from the bloodstains, brought the memories of last night back in vivid detail. I had run for miles from the monster, and hadn't even considered fighting it. Whereas Dee had picked the knife up and killed it in one blow. I was ashamed of being such a wimp. She could keep the knife- I no longer deserved it.

'You keep it.' I said lightly, untying the sheath from my belt and handing it to her. 'But...' Dee's eyes where clouded with confusion. '...It's yours.'

'You killed the monster, you keep the knife.' Dee looked at me and smiled. Her green eyes sparkled like sunlight catching water. For the first time since I had left the gang, I felt something like hope. Maybe this Camp wouldn't be so bad: if I had a friend like Dee by my side.

a/n: Sorry about the soppy ending... compared to the last chapter this one is rather tame. Please review!


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